


Exhibition

by Ealasaid



Series: Two Lance Corporals and a Prostitute [4]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Desperation, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Rough Kissing, Trauma, War, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: [Just because Tom is learning what it means to love does not mean there is not a war.]
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: Two Lance Corporals and a Prostitute [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802356
Kudos: 11





	Exhibition

"In--" Sco pants, close, desperate. "In-- in--!"

Tom needs no encouragement. It is cramped and dark and damp in the foxhole, and it only goes down maybe seven or eight feet, but he scrambles to the bottom the same as Sco, the same as Wilkens, the same as Bean, the same as McCaffrey. Tom doesn't know why they dug these holes in so close but he is grateful for it now as they huddle at the bottom, where the three of them meet, so tightly packed that he feels the press of Bean to his left and Sco is molded to him on the right. Tom is in the middle, and the furthest from any of the openings.

The cacophony is deafening. The Germans have unleashed a bombardment no-one expected; Tom has never experienced this. The ground shakes so and Tom has no control -- _no control --_

He hears panicked noises, high and frightened, like a small animal. Warmth spreads down his leg, seeps into his trousers from beneath. He cannot tell if its his own piss or Bean's, not with Bean half in his lap like this as earth fills his ears and clogs his nose and Tom is being buried, buried alive--

"At the same time," Sco says in his ear, desperate still -- fervent now. "We'll get a girl when we're back in Ypres, yeah? And we'll have her at the same time, I swear--"

Tom makes some noise. He isn't sure what sort. But it encourages Sco, who keeps going, spinning out this fantasy that catches at Tom's attention -- drags him away from the terror of the moment, the remembrance of when they both were nearly buried alive _except now it is for real--_

\--He comes back to himself a little when he hears Sco sob. Everything is cold, now, cold and awful, but the whimpering has stopped and Tom thinks he can hear again. It is dark, but Sco is warm, and Tom feels his lips as they move on his ear, Sco's breath stirring Tom's hair. Tom is clumsy when makes himself move. Still, he clings, twining every finger and muscle and bone he has so that he is twisted and tied to Sco in every way Tom can manage, in every way that matters--

"--you and me," Sco says, voice cracked, ragged, and Tom loses the rest of it with the next God-awful rumble as his bones clatter with each other and he bites his tongue so hard that the pain does not register but the taste of iron does. 

He feels Sco rock in his arms when sensation returns in the next short lull, hours (months? Years?) later. Sco is quiet -- he is always quiet, save when he is fucking into Tom like he belongs there, but now Tom can't tell if Sco is quiet because it is his nature or because he is dead. "Sco!" he hears himself whisper, as though from far, far away. "Sco?"

Sco rocks harder. His head thumps against Tom's when he shakes it and that at least tells Tom that Sco is (probably) still alive; no bombardment would parody that. Tom reaches out, fumbling, and finds Sco's jaw. He feels his fingers skid, slipping when they feel out that brow, those lips, Sco's nose, but Tom is undeterred -- he finds the hinge of Sco's jaw, that tender hollow beneath it, and hooks his fingers in and pulls his friend close.

The angle is wrong. Their noses mash, uncomplementary: the ache in his sinuses tells Tom he will have a hell of a time trying to breathe regular if they make it out of this. Nevertheless, Tom opens his mouth and licks, generous; he tastes salt, and snot, and mud, and the omnipresent iron -- but then the seam beneath his tongue cracks and releases heat and he tastes Sco.

Will comes alive. Their mouths seal; they cleave. No breath matters but the breaths they share -- no beat matters but that of their heart, wracking them arrhythmically as the epocryphal clysm engulfs them, submerges them, consumes them whole.

**Author's Note:**

> [There is one more planned installment forthcoming -- half-written, will be published probably in a week.]
> 
> \--Other notes:
> 
> After I wrote [roughly four novels' worth of post-canon continuation about ghost Blake continuing his adventures with his bff William Schofield](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855570), the lovely @yonderlight found and directed me towards a WWI memoir titled [And We Go On](https://www.amazon.com/We-Go-Memoir-Carleton-Library/dp/0773543961) by one Will R. Bird, about a Canadian soldier who _literally_ joined Canadian forces after being contacted by the ghost of his younger brother and who was subsequently guided through the war by his brother's ghost. (No, I'm not making this up.) --Anyway, inspiration for this chapter comes from that memoir.
> 
> Next up: I'm about 3/4ths through the next chapter of [fraternité](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26710627/chapters/65157082); I anticipate it being finished and published within the week. If you're looking for smut that a demi-sexual or asexual person would be interested in, I recommend that.


End file.
